Always Welcome
by GoDownWithThisShip
Summary: After a particularly gruesome run-in with his mother, Sirius flees to the refuge of the Potter house. ONE-SHOT could potentially turn into something more. Maybe, maybe not.


"Crucio!"

Muscles tearing. Tendons ripping. Bones shattering. Sirius writhed on the floor of his bedroom, his face dragging against the dark carpeting.

"Take them down," his mother's cold voice sounded somewhere above him.

"No," he hissed through gritted teeth.

"Crucio!" she repeated and this time he felt as though someone were skinning him alive and rubbing salt all over his body.

He made no verbal recognition of the pain he was in, but he couldn't stop his body from attempting to escape the pain.

"How dare you defile the walls of the sacred and most ancient house of Black with your revolting mood blood filth?" his mother shouted gesturing to the walls of his bedroom which he had covered with pictures of attractive muggle swimsuit models and motorcycles.

He didn't answer and his silence angered her even more. He felt the curse intensify, now it was as if his brains were in a blender. His hands shot up to his head and he let out his first cry of pain. Blood began to trickle from his left nostril. His mother looked down at him with a pleased smile on her face. "The next time you decide to do something so vulgar, I swear to you, I won't bother with torture. No. Next time, the penalty shall be death," she hissed, turned and left him huddled on the carpet.

He laid there for what seemed like an hour. Every breath was laborious. It felt as though he had swallowed acid and it was slowly seeping into his body cavity, annihilating everything in it's way. _I need him, _he thought, _I need James. James can fix me. James always fixes me._

He pushed himself up off the floor and staggered to his bureau. The pain from his mother's curse was subsiding. He felt less and less like a mangled corpse with every step he took. He emptied out what little muggle clothes he owned into his trunk. He limped about the room and gathered his belongings and stuffed them into his trunk as well. He slipped his wand into the pocket of his jeans and left the room with his trunk dragging behind him. He defended the stairs as quietly as possible. He stopped in the hall and on a whim, took a side trip into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of fire whiskey from the liquor cabinet. With that he left the ancient house of Black behind.

Streaked streetlights. Empty metro cars. Infinite concrete sidewalks.

He knew the route to James's house all too well. He went through the front gate and instead of going to the front door, he crept around to the back of the house. Even in the darkness he could tell that he was standing underneath James's window. He bent down and picked up a small stone and chucked it at the window. When he didn't receive an immediate response, he chucked a few more. Finally a light illuminated within and Sirius felt somewhat comforted as if the dim glow of the bedroom light actually provided him with physical warmth. James looked down and saw his friend, he grinned and disappeared from sight. A moment later the backdoor opened and James rushed out to greet Sirius. As he approached his excitement turned to concern.

"You look like hell," James said quietly.

Sirius shrugged, "I've had worse nights than this. I'll tell you about it once we're inside."

James assisted his friend with the trunk and they entered the house. The back door lead directly into the Potter's quaint kitchen and Sirius felt out of place at once. He almost always did while at the Potters' house. He felt that he didn't belong in such pristine normalicy. They crept up the stairs and James situated Sirius's trunk in the corner of his bedroom. He then sank into his bed and waited for Sirius to explain what happened. James knew better than to pester Sirius, who preferred to divulge information at his own pace.

"You know how I hung a bunch of muggle pictures in my room to piss my mom off?" Sirius asked as he dug through his trunk to find the bottle of fire whiskey that he had snatched.

"Yeah?"

"It worked," Sirius said smiling mischievously and producing the bottle.

Sirius hadn't expected James's reaction. James sat upright on the bed, staring at him in disbelief. He watched as his eyes went from widened shock to narrowed anger. "So she screwed you up a little, didn't she?"

Sirius opened the bottle and took a swig, "Really mate, that surprises you?"

"What the hell did she do to you?"

"Oh you know, a little cruciatus here. A little physical stuff there," Sirius said casually.

James was furious, "How can she just do that kind of shit to you? Isn't there someone who can help you? Isn't there somewhere you can go?"

"Well that's kind of why I came here, James. I don't exactly have anywhere to go at the moment," Sirius said quietly.

James stood up and embraced Sirius, who stood there awkwardly. James wasn't usually the affectionate type. "Oh come on, mate. Get off now-"

"You don't deserve shit like that Sirius. You're _always _welcome here. Do you understand me?" James whispered.

"Oh come on don't get all emotional on me," Sirius groaned. James pulled back and Sirius offered him the bottle.

James wrapped his slender fingers around the neck of it and raised it slightly, "A toast, to better days,"

"To better days," Sirius repeated and James took a deep sip.

Liquor stinging as it slips down the esophagus. Drunken laughter followed by drunken tears. Ending with a room drunk with silence.

Sirius turned his head slightly to face his friend. They were both lying on their backs on the bed looking up at the ceiling. Swimming in the silent sheets next to them was the skeleton of the fire whiskey. James was trapped in the gray area between consciousness and sleep. Sirius felt out of place in this house where everything was so pristinely normal. But most of all, he felt out of place in his friend's life. A life where everything fit perfectly into place, everything was smooth, round, not a jagged edge in sight. How did he fit in that puzzle? How could he with all of his jagged edges possibly fit? James turned to him, their eyes met, and James gave him a signature drunken grin. _He looks so stupid. Hell he is stupid. Stupid for wasting his time with me._

_He's a fucking mess, _James thought, _but I guess I like it. He's not pretending. Sirius doesn't pretend for anyone. Not his mother, not his friends, not for __**me**_


End file.
